Feels Like Rain
by Starrgazer11
Summary: What do you dream of when you can't wake up? Who will be there when you do? Pre-Avengers.
1. Intro

_Director Fury's Office_

"It had been an ordinary mission at first. They had studied the files, swapping them at exactly the same time. There was a deadly group of human traffickers who had hit Detroit, Chicago, and Boston. The SHIELD profilers reported that the next target was New York City. Agents Barton and Romanoff were placed undercover in the same apartment building that the ringleaders were assumed to live. The task was a simple AED. It all went wrong when they were deceived by a dirty SHIELD agent, who, it turns out, liked the kinds of girls that the traffickers supplied. Agents Barton and Romanoff were subdued and taken captive. Their comms had been on, and Agent Coulson and I had been listening, as they were debriefing us on their progress. Agent Coulson immediately ordered an extraction team. It took us 28 hours to reach their location-" Agent Maria Hill was cut off by her boss.

"That's enough for now, Hill, thank you," Nick fury squeezed the bridge of his nose. Maria gave a slight nod and left the office quickly. She wanted to see if there was any progress in the health of her two favorite assassins. When she walked into the shared hospital room, she found Phil, who was sitting by the door in an uncomfortable-looking chair, the palm of his hand acting as a pillow.

Maria took a deep breath and went over to Clint. He had begun to teach her archery as she had begun to teach him why American Football was important. His condition was improving rapidly, and his vitals were coming back to normal. According to the doctor this morning, he could even wake up today. She squeezed his hand and went over to Natasha's bed.

The redhead's condition was much, much worse. She had been beaten brutally just like Clint had. However, she had been raped by the ringleaders and various items. The nurses had force-fed a morning after pill to her when she came in, and there were no signs of pregnancy in her scans. She heard movement from the door and immediately whipped around, weapon ready. Phil gave her a look as he yawned.

"How are they?" he asked. Maria let out another sigh.

"Natasha is still the same, while Barton's improving with flying colors," They moved to Clint's bed, each on one side. Maria placed her hand on his again. The two agents' gaze went over to Natasha. Maria took a deep breath before looking Coulson straight in the eye."I don't think she's going to make it," Suddenly, a soft, painful moan made its way out of Clint.

"Ta..sh..."


	2. Dream Number 1

**A/N: Hey lovelies! As you can see, this is my first story. I was so happy to see that some of you followed and faved. I promise that I will work really hard to keep writing, and try to make this story worthy of the section, but I'll only know how to improve if you review! **

**All rights to their respective owners.**

_**When life gives you lemons...read 'em!**_

Both Hill and Coulson leaned in to Clint, then looked at each other.

"Did... did he just speak?" asked Hill tentatively.

"Yes, I think so. Where's that damn nurse?"

"Right behind ya, agent. And it's doctor, by the way." The woman cracked her gum.

"Now move so I can check him." Hill and Coulson took a half-inch step back as she examined Clint, opening his eyes and shining her light into them. "He's a cutie," the doctor continued. She checked his vitals. "Well, he's gettin' better. I'll be back in a few hours. She left the room, running her hand down Clint's leg as she went.

"I don't like her," Maria mumbled

"Me nei-" started Coulson, until he noticed something. "Barton's eyes are moving," he said, pointing at the agent's face. Maria noticed that they were, indeed, moving. Was he dreaming?

He was lighting the last candle when he heard it. The very slight thud of someone coming over the railing of his balcony. He only heard it because they had been partners for so long. Even he couldn't see very well out of the doors to the balcony; it was that dark. Then she came out of the shadows, almost slinking. He felt like one of her marks. She surveyed the room.

"How romantic, Barton," she snickered.

"How else am I supposed to see when all of New York is blacked out?" He made a small smile. "Plus, it smells nice." Natasha scoffed.

"Didn't know you were such a pansy, Hawkeye." She took another sly step towards him. He made a big effort to not show how hard he was trying to calm himself down.

"At least I don't have a giant secret stash of bath bombs," His smile grew into a smirk, and he stepped closer to her.

"You've never complained about their scent before. In fact, I seem to recall you favoring the vanilla and cinnamon scents the most." She took a step closer and shrugged off her coat, revealing a black lacy lingerie set. She stepped towards him again and she threw the coat on the chair behind him. Their bodies were an inch apart, and Clint realized she smelled of both cinnamon and vanilla. He didn't do a good job of hiding his attempt of control this time. Natasha smiled and gently bit down on her bottom lip, which sent Clint over the edge.

His arms circled her torso, and his lips melted into hers. She kissed him back, so glad that she didn't have to hide her arousal anymore. She wrapped one leg, then the other around his waist, and not a second after she was slammed into his wall, completely molded to him. He thrust up against her, making her release a small moan. She could feel his smirk as he made his way down her jaw to her neck and then her collarbone. He ran his tongue over it, coaxing another, louder moan, escape her mouth. She could feel the exhale of a silent laugh on her neck as he moved back up, until their eyes were locked again.

She pushed him away from her, towards his bedroom, and began undoing her lingerie set. Calloused hands stopped her, and she knew that he wanted to do that part. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a feverish kiss, proceeding to pull his shirt off to reveal his toned yet scarred chest and arms. She sucked in her bottom lip again, unconsciously this time. Clint put his hands on her hips, picking her small frame up easily and putting her through the door to his room, setting them only a couple feet away from his bed.

Natasha looped her fingers in his belt loops and pulled him towards her until her calves hit the bed and they fell. He caught himself with his arms to avoid crushing her. Natasha wriggled up the bed, Clint following her, mentally playing through what he was about to do with her. He paced himself, slowly pulling her panties down her cream-colored legs until they were off, then he threw them in some unknown direction. Clint groaned as he felt her fingers in his hair, her nails scraping his scalp just enough to make every hair stand on end.

Natasha almost lost it right then and there when he pressed his lips to her inner thigh in the softest and most delicate of kisses. His tongue then darted out, licking up her thigh until he got to his destination. She looked down on him, focusing on giving him her "do it or I'll kill you" stare, only to be met with his grey eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Don't you dare-" she started, but it was too late, the lowered his mouth, kissed her at her weakest spot, and then stopped. She was dazed now, and he knew it. He stood up again, taking off his pants, and stood there for a few moments, looking at her. She looked like her victims did after she used her spider bite, but different, because she was dazed and subdued by lust, whilst her victims were paralyzed and poisoned.

"Please, Clint..."

"What do you want, Tasha?"

"You,"

"How?"

He climbed back on top of her, but realized his mistake too soon. She smirked and flipped them over so that she was straddling him. She leaned in close and licked her lips.

"You know exactly how."

**A/N: Yup, I left it like that. Want more? I know I would. Lemme know of any requests, concerns, bribes, etc.**


	3. Speculation

**A/N: Hey y'all, thanks for the support. Shout-out to ShadowBeats22107 because they reminded me that I do, in fact, have to post what I write. I had to cut this a bit short due to the load of homework I have to do now that I'm officially back at school. **

Coulson kept a close eye on Clint, who was beginning to show signs of life again. He looked at the young agent with worried eyes. Brooks, an agent that Coulson had mentored, had succumbed to a coma eight years before this. It was as Coulson was starting to get more nervous when Fury came in. He looked to Coulson for a report.

"Have you noticed that they get younger every time, Director?"

Nick Fury knew that Coulson was thinking back to Agent Brooks. It was right after Brooks died that Barton was recruited. Coulson took to Barton as, for lack of a better term, a rebound. He looked between the two comatose agents, immediately realizing which one was worse. He walked over to her.

"I never knew she could get any paler," he said, a desert-dry humor tinting his voice. Coulson felt his lips twitch. This was the closest to a smile he could get to right now.

It was then that Clint started twitching again, more so than before. Fury turned and walked the few steps to Barton's bed, cocking his head a bit.

"Has he done this before?" Fury asked.

"Yes sir, and he spoke, just barely though..."

"What'd he say?" Fury turned his eye to Coulson when he didn't respond right away. "I asked you a question, agent."

"Yes sir, you did. He said, 'Tash', one of his nicknames for-"

"Agent Romanoff, I know. He's probably reliving the few seconds before he passed out. The extraction team saw it all.

A small scoff came from the doorway. The agents (the awake ones) turned to see Maria standing in the doorway.

"You find my assumption amusing, Agent Hill?"

"No sir, I find my assumption amusing," Maria began.

"And what assumption would that be, Agent Hill?"

"He's dreaming,"

"Dreaming?"

"Yes sir. I believe that his dream sometimes focuses on something other than the moments before the blast," she continued hesitantly. Both she and Coulson tried to read their boss's face. He sat down in one of the chairs and sighed that sounded suspiciously like relief.

"Thank god. I thought I was the only one who noticed that," Coulson and Hill exchanged surprised looks. Coulson took a step closer to Fury. He leaned in, as if bowing slightly, and took a deep breath.

"Agent Coulson, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Fury turned his head slightly, looking at Phil suspiciously with a hint of worry. Coulson, stone-faced as usual then straightened back up and stepped back to his place next to the door (and now Hill). He leaned close to her.

"No immediate smell of alcohol," he stated. "I suppose he ships them too."

* * *

_ (insert going-into-the-memory transition music here)_

* * *

She was risking too much again, and as the timer hit five seconds, he wrapped both arms around her waist and started running. He heard the rapid beeping of the last two seconds, and threw her in front of him. The blast went off, shrapnel pierced his skin, and he hit the ground, covering his head as best he could. The old familiar post-blast ringing of the ears began in his head. He groaned. The ringing in his ears was getting louder, which was strange. Normally it decreased after the blast. Groaning again, he lifted his head up to see if Natasha was all right.

He opened his eyes to a white plaster ceiling and a sterile smell. The ringing was one solid beep. A flatline. The lack of a heartbeat.

The lack of a heartbeat from his partner.

**A/N: **

**I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry.**

**On a more positive note, I put the whole "I suppose he ships them too," thing in because we all know that Coulson knows what that means since he is one of the biggest fangirls/warriors of all time. Sorry it's been so long... I'm trying to find time to write! Any reviews I can go over in the meantime? **


	4. From Soft To Singed

**Even though I am LONGING to have these rights, the characters belong to Marvel. *sigh***

**A/N: I am so, so, SO sorry for being gone for so long. I've been hit with brick after brick (it's a metaphor, so don't call the police), and I'm slowly gaining story ideas back... Even though I am LONGING to have the rights, the characters belong to Marvel. *sigh***

She was on a luxuriously soft bed, her hair was down, and she could smell strawberries. Not the kind that were in the shampoo that Clint had accidentally washed with, but the fresh kind. The kind that could be dipped in chocolate or put in cereal (Clint did that, while she thought cereal was utterly disgusting) or even eaten off of... She was letting her mind wander, and the shower in the bathroom had stopped.

This wasn't vacation, this was a mission. A mission with an alarmingly low amount of assassination. It was the drug lord- no, wait, the bank robbery that- no, that wasn't it either. Oh, yes! The drone- no, they had finished that mission. Was it the poison gas in the cars? No, that was an episode of a science fiction show that she had caught Fury watching on his handheld computer. She shook her head quickly, trying to get her brain to focus again. Why couldn't she remember the mission? She heard the door open, and looked up, her eyes widening in ill-concealed horror. Clint looked like he just walked out of an explosion. His S.H.E.I.L.D. uniform was ragged and singed, his bow was hanging off of his shoulder, his quiver half gone. He had numerous cuts on his face, and pieces of rubble and shrapnel on his face, neck, and arms.

After the whole second she took to catalogue everything wrong with him, she hissed in pain as she felt each one of her injured ribs move. She tried to stand up, but she fell back on the bed, which wasn't as soft as before. Her head was splitting in pain, and an unnecessarily loud rapid beeping built up all around her. It got so fast that she couldn't distinguish between the beeps, as if it was one long, consistent beep, like a flatline in a hosp- she looked at Clint, who was still standing. She looked down her body, seeing her own uniform there, just as singed and dirty as Clint's.

She fell back further onto the bed, lying on her back. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she couldn't. The ringing was getting louder and a lot closer. She fought and fought and fought, but just went further into unconsciousness, unable to move, breathe or think.

* * *

Clint turned his head to his right, seeing a pale (even paler than before) Natasha on the bed a few feet away, not moving. Doctors and nurses started flooding the room, and blocking his view. He tried to get up, but felt two hands push him back down. He turned his head to the owner of the hands, throwing a murderous look. He saw that it was Coulson, who looked almost relieved. Clint turned to see Maria Hill leaning by the door, looking like she was going to throw up. Director Fury rushed into the room, his eye moving quickly as he took in everything. Clint fought against Coulson again.

Coulson knew that Clint should easily push him aside on any other day, but right now he was thanking whatever gods were real that the agent had been dosed with a ton of morphine. Even with all of the morphine, he needed Hill and Fury to come and help.

It was killing Clint to be held down and not helping Nat. The doctors were fumbling about, not helping at all. Then he remembered the emergency adrenaline shot in her belt. He looked at Hill.

"Where's her belt?" The agent looked at him in confusion, but then remembered the adrenaline shot that Natasha had swiped from a lab in the Helicarrier. Hill had kept her mouth shut because Natasha had certain information on Maria's love life. She scanned the room, looking for the bag of Natasha's clothes. She tore through the back until she found the singed uniform and pulled the small syringe out. Rough hands took it out of hers, and she looked up to see Clint toss the doctors aside. He placed the tip of it over her heart, said something inaudible, raised his arm, and plunged the syringe into his partner's chest.

**A/N: Yeah, I added that bit about the nifty belt adrenaline. I'm already writing the next one, but I want to know if anyone's still reading this... Let me know how you are, what you want to see, and your favorite milkshake flavor. 3**


	5. Molasses Memory

**A/N: *peeks out from cave* hai... I've been going through really tough times, and I just stayed up all night reading other amazing fanfics, finding BlackHawk comic clippings (ost of them fan-made), and writing this. The quote she says was from a small strip I found at about 4 AM. I really hope you all like this...**

There was one time, when everything went in slow motion, that he thought he was losing her. They had been way outnumbered, and real fights weren't easy like in the movies. The people outnumbering you didn't come one at a time. They also didn't go out quickly, especially if they were trained in martial arts. On top of that, they all had knives. Lucky for him, he had one of the best knife-fighters in the world on his side. However, when there's several attackers, all weilding knives, it gets ugly. A knife entered the right side of her abdomen during a fight. It went almost all the way to the hilt, and was about to be pulled out again when the attacker had gotten an arrow in-between the eyes from a foot away. This sight had made the other men of the gang run away, but Clint hadn't had time to smirk or send arrows after them.

She was looking down at the knife still inside her, trying to move her hands so she could stop what bleeding she could. She had looked up at Clint, and her face would be the center of his nightmares for the rest of his life. Dark blood came up from her mouth, and some came out of her mouth, starting a line down her chin. She had started to fall, and he caught her head as she hit the ground.

Examining the knife, he made the decision to pull it out on his own. The feeling made him sick, sicker than the first time he killed. Blood had spouted out, leaving drops on both of their faces. He quickly covered the would with his hand. Pops of gunfire sounded from down the block, but they were distant echoes to him. His whole face was twitching, trying to hold back tears. He felt something warm on his hand, and he looked down to see her blood-soaked one on top of his. A tear fell onto it as he looked back at her. He could barely hear her next words:

"Не будь такой старухе, Hawkeye."

A man's voice came through the molasses of the echo, and everything snapped back into normal pacing. He was barking orders to the new agent who'd been assigned as their backup (All of the S.H.I.E.L.D. missions had back-up agents to help if needed, and the agency had decided to start putting inexperienced ones on their missions because Hawkeye and Black Widow never needed help). She had dark hair and blue eyes, and was the most cool and collected newbie he had ever seen.

On the helicopter, Natasha was put on the mobile life support system. He still had his hands pressing down on her wound, but a small shatter of glass and a sudden drop of the chopper notified the passengers that the pilot had been shot. The newbie sat on top of the dead pilot and steered them to the Danube, where a S.H.I.E.L.D. base was disguised as an elite cruise ship. He sat on top of her on the stretcher, never releasing his hands from her abdomen until a doctor that he recognized and trusted was there to take over. He was left outside of the OR's doors like in some kind of movie.

He turned and to his boss, Natasha's last words to him echoing though out his head in whispers and screams: _"Don't be such an old woman, Hawkeye." _He gave his report, then walked back towards the doors and the seats next to them. Coulson had come to collect the newbie for her report, and she stopped for a moment and looked at him.

"So, first time in Budapest?"

**A/N: Hah. Hah. Hah...?**

**By the way, the title of this story, "Feels Like Rain", is the name of a John Hiatt song that is on my playlist that I listen to while I fall asleep (Or try to...) I love it, and the more I listen to it, the more I think of Clintasha. Or maybe I just need to sleep more. Take a listen and lemme know what you think. OH AND ALSO: no one told me their favorite milkshake flavor... :(**


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